Wisconsin Wedding (Welcome To Tyler, No. 3) by Carla Neggers

of Margaret Ingalls. Apparently she’d been quite the party animal. Putting the two photos side by side, Byron saw a strong resemblance between grandmother and granddaughter.
    There was no picture of Cliff. No quotes from him, asthere had been from Joe Santori, about having discovered the body. “Cliff Forrester couldn’t be reached for comment,” the paper said. Which might have meant anything from they couldn’t find him to he’d chased them off with a shotgun.
    Byron suddenly wished he hadn’t agreed to sneak into Tyler and play scout for his mother—or for himself. He’d done that once, completely on his own, with disastrous results. There were too many unknowns. Cliff’s being involved with a Tyler woman Byron had anticipated. And he’d have to have been a complete idiot not to know he was in for a fight with Nora Gates. But a dead body? A dead body that could belong to the grandmother of his future sister-in-law?
    Best, he thought, to hold off for a bit before phoning his mother in London and reporting the news.
    But that wasn’t what was really eating at Byron and he knew it.
    He was bothered by the big unknown, the one that had gnawed at him for three long years. How would he react if he ever saw Nora Gates again?
    He shoved the newspapers back where he’d found them and left the library, walking quickly to his car. It was fully dark now. Cold. There was a stiff breeze. The square was quiet. Byron already had his car door open, but he shut it softly. He had another five minutes on his meter.
    After crossing the street, he walked down to Gates Department Store, a fixture on Tyler’s square since Ellie Gates had opened the three-story building in the Roaring Twenties, using an unexpected inheritance from an uncle back East. People had been surprised she’d risked her money on a business venture instead of putting it safely in the bank so she could lead a ladylike life. They’d doubted she’d be able to stay in business, never mind make enough profit tofill three floors with merchandise, or attract enough customers from Tyler and surrounding communities to support a full department store. But she’d proved them wrong, her sense of style, service and tradition finding a large and loyal following.
    Gates closed at six o’clock, except for Thursdays and Fridays when it stayed open until nine. Its widow displays were often mentioned in Wisconsin travel guides, regional magazines and newspapers, a “must see” in Tyler. They were Nora’s brainchild. Aunt Ellie had done the usual perfunctory displays, but not her grandniece. Nora’s were elaborate and creative, playing on the history and charms of her corner of the Midwest.
    The current display featured Halloween, complete with witches, pumpkins, black cats and skeletons, but also a touch of whimsy: two figures, a boy and girl, dressed as children of Swedish immigrants, bobbing for apples in a wooden bucket; a puppy stealing a caramel popcorn ball from an overflowing bowl; a cheerful-looking ghost peering out of a closet. It was a montage of scenes that were warm, nostalgic, funny, spooky. Busy owner of Gates or not, Byron thought, Nora had to have been personally responsible for such an imaginative window.
    A gust of Canadian air went right through his slouchy jacket and chamois shirt. But instead of moving along the street, Byron remained in front of the department store window, staring at the children bobbing for apples, trying not to remember….
    A hot, muggy August afternoon, his first in Tyler. Byron hadn’t come to Wisconsin to take pictures. For him, then, photography was only a hobby. He’d come to see his brother. Cliff had retreated from society two years before and Byron wanted to reassure himself that his brother was alive, functioning, living a life he needed to live, on hisown terms. For Cliff’s sake, Byron had come to Tyler un-announced, on the sly, without fanfare. He didn’t want to do anything— anything —to upset the